


The Great Gum Heist of '06

by AyeWriteCara



Series: The Detective and The Magician 'verse [2]
Category: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Kleptomania, Swearing, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyeWriteCara/pseuds/AyeWriteCara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*COMPLETE*</p><p>When Perry puts me in mind of my Grandmother's cat, I know I am in serious shit. Trouble with a capital T.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, commented on, and left Kudos for "Probation". I really appreciate the encouragement!
> 
> I'm not sure about the title for this one but I wanted to post the first part (which is kind of short) before I head off to the States for a week. I will post the rest when I get back. :o)

 

When I was a kid, my Grandmother had this fancy cat. This wasn't some mangey farm cat. It didn't even go outside. She kept it perfectly groomed and it had a better diet than most people I knew in Embry.

Anyway, as pretty and preened as this cat was, it had a vicious temper. It scared the crap out of me. I wouldn't dare even touch it.

The thing about this cat though (I have a point, I promise), was just before it clawed your face, its eyes would narrow and it would tense its body, puff itself up. That was a warning. Run away. Quick.

Perry gives off a similar vibe when he's angry. Now I'm not talking exasperated or frustrated or any of the daily emotions that have him calling me "shithead" or "fuckwit". l mean, really angry. Murderous.

When Perry puts me in mind of my Grandmother's cat, I know I am in serious shit. Trouble with a capital T.

The first time I really saw Perry angry, I'd been in LA for three months. After all the drama at Christmas I had no money to go back to New York or set myself up in LA. Staying in Indiana after the funeral seemed like my only option until Perry took pity on me and offered me a job. The agreement was l would stay with Perry only until l found somewhere else. I looked at a few apartments but Perry found fault with every single one ("Rats, Harry!" or "There are no windows!" or "No, dumbass, a chalk outline doesn't mean a place has character!"). So I ended up just staying and renting one of Perry's guest rooms. I like to think I'm not as terrible a roommate as Perry expected. But what was I saying?

Oh yeah. So fast forward three months. I came home from picking up take-out and... Wait! I'm forgetting something. Jeez.

So, let's back up a sec. Remember at the end of the movie when Perry said "don't steal anymore shit, Harry. You're not a punk." That really got to me, you know? At that exact moment, I vowed to myself, I would never steal again.

But... I got itchy fingers, okay? When things never really got off the ground with Harmony, I was upset. I lifted a few packs of gum from a 7-Eleven. Like a comfort thing, I dunno. Then once, after Perry yelled at me for shredding the papers for filing and filing the papers for shredding, l took a walk round the block and ended up with a pocket full of gum from the gas station.

Always the same brand, so it became kind of a game. A little sleight of hand. It was fun. I never did it when I was out with Perry. Are you kidding? The guy's a goddamned detective.

But it was no big deal, right? Just a few packs of gum. I'd just toss them in my desk drawer, I didn't think about it.

So that's my little confession. Judging me yet? Like you're so perfect.

Anyway. When I came home that night with take-out food, Perry was waiting.

_"Harry! Get through here!"_

I took my shoes off and hung up my jacket on a coat hook (part of Perry's house-training programme).

"I got the food but they didn't have the dipping sauce..."

Perry was sitting on the couch, arms crossed. He looked furious. He looked like my Grandmother's pissy cat.

On the coffee table in the front of him he had lined up, like dominoes, hundreds of packs of doublemint gum.

Oh. Shit. Busted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments for chapter one, I really appreciate it! Here is chapter two which is longer and got kind of angsty. One more chapter after this, I reckon.

“You wanna explain this, Harry?” Perry leaned forward and put his index fingers against his lips. My mind raced to come up with an explanation that would get me off the hook. I’m not at my best when I'm under pressure. My heart hammered against my ribs and all I could think to say was, “it’s gum.”  
  
“I can see that, numb-nuts! You better tell me they had a crazy multi-saver deal on at the store.”

“Um.”

Perry stood up and I took a step back.

“Harry, have you been shop-lifting?”

“Um.”  
  
“Say _um_ again, I dare you!” His face was flushed and he had his fists clenched at his sides.  
  
“It’s just gum.”

Stupid thing to say. _Stupid._

“There are 214 packs of gum there! You have been arrested five times, you have priors! How could you be so goddamned stupid! And for what? Gum!”  
  
I thought it was best not to mention all the packs I had actually chewed my way through. Two hundred and fourteen was bad enough. Perry was getting pretty red and he started stalking towards me, jabbing his finger at my chest. I backed up.  
  
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, alright?”  
  
“No, it’s not alright.”  
  
“Look, Per. I am sorry.” I raised my hands in a sort of surrender. “I won’t do it again.”  
  
Perry folded his arms across his broad chest. He looked mad as all hell.  
  
“I don’t believe you, Harry.”  
  
“Come on, boss. Don’t be like that."  
  
Okay, now I was getting worried. Perry is quite a serious guy but usually when I get on his nerves the big brown eyes routine does the trick but somehow I was making it worse and Perry was getting angrier and angrier.  
  
“Do you realise the risk I took when I gave you a job?" He was yelling now. "All it takes is for one store detective to be brighter than you, and that is not a stretch, because you are an idiot. My livelihood is based on my reputation which is based on trust.”  
  
“But Perry, I’d never steal from you!”  
  
“Are you listening?”  
  
“I apologised, what more can I do?”  
  
That was a step too far, apparently.  
  
Perry grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and walked me backwards til my ass hit the wall. I stumbled but he held me upright with no effort.  
  
“You are a waste of my time, Lockhart. You are nothing but a loser, a punk kid who will never change.”  
  
Ouch, am I right? That stung. I couldn’t follow that up. I was genuinely speechless. Perry let me go and walked away into the kitchen. I kind of wished he had just hit me. That might have hurt less. I felt my eyes blurring and I realised I was holding my breath. I wrapped my arms round myself and lingered, not sure what to do. Should I follow him? Should I wait?  
  
After a few minutes I crept into the kitchen. Perry was pouring a whisky which I guessed was a refill. His eyes met mine and I looked away first.  
  
“Perry.”  
  
“Yes, Harry.”  
  
“I am really sorry. Please believe me, I can change. I thought it would be okay because it was only gum and now I know I am just really dumb.”  
  
Perry turned the glass in his hand and then took another swallow. I hoped he would offer me a drink.  
  
“Harry, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to think very carefully before you answer because I’m only going to ask you this once.”  
  
I jumped in with “I swear to God, I swear on my life, I’ve never stolen from you, Per, I never would!”  
  
“That’s not it,” he said. “If you need me to get you on a 12 step program, Kleptomaniacs Anonymous, whatever, I can do that. But wait, listen!” He held up his hand to stop me before I could interrupt. I clamped my mouth shut. “If you tell me everything is okay and this happens again, that’s it. And I mean it, chief. Game over. Now," he paused. He looked hard into my eyes. "Do you have a problem?”  
  
I didn't really want to go to klepto rehab. But if I thought about it, could I honestly promise Perry I would never lift a pack of gum (or a candy bar, or a watch, or any other piece of crap that caught my eye) again? Could l even believe myself that I would never, ever steal again?  
  
Nope. Uh-uh.  
  
Tears sprung from my eyes before I even knew l was crying. I pulled my sleeve over my hand and wiped my face. I sniffed and tried to compose myself. God, that’s embarrassing. Perry once told me I cry more often than any straight guy and most gay guys he knows. One time he came home to find me weeping into a $700 imported lamb’s wool throw-rug and that's why Lifetime is now passcode protected on the cable package.  
  
"Harry." It was a prompt. Answer the question.  
  
"l don't know. I mean. Maybe I should give it a shot."  
  
Perry placed another glass next to his own and poured two fingers into each one. He pushed the glass for me across the counter.  
  
"Thank you," l said, sheepishly.  
  
"I'll make some calls tomorrow."  
  
We drank in silence for a few minutes. I glanced up at Perry a few times and saw his face was returning to a more natural color and his eyebrows had taken their usual place on his face, instead of hanging dangerously over his eyes.  
  
When the whisky was gone I felt a little better and the tears had stopped.  
  
Perry reached over and put his hand on my shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry for what l said, chief. I don't think you're a loser. l shouldn't have said that and l shouldn't have put my hands on you."  
  
"l guess I deserved worse," l shrugged.  
  
We drank in silence for a while.

The next day Perry made me throw out all my pilfered gum. He interrogated me about whether I had any other loot hidden away but I told the truth when I said no.  
  
I went to one session at Kleptos Anonymous and begged Perry not to send me back. A bunch of 50-something Stepford Wives with cautions for lifting lipsticks, bottles of perfume and blouses, who all wanted to touch my hair, and stroke my arm and mother me. Sheesh.  
  
After that (because Perry was insistent and I didn't dare argue), he send me to therapy. Fuck, I should have seen this coming. Less than three months in California and I was on a couch.  
  
We talked about my mother, my dad, my childhood, the usual psycho-bullshit. We talked a little about Perry and Harmony.  
  
During the third session the therapist asked me to tell her about my time in prison.  
  
Can I just make something clear? I'm a talker, right? My mom would always scold me for chatting to strangers in line at the grocery store or waiting for the bus. Perry reckons my mouth gets me into as much trouble as it gets me out of. But my point is, as much as l can talk ‘til I'm hoarse, I don't ever talk about being inside. Not to Perry. Not even to Ritchie, and I know he had done time too.  
  
Well, don't hold your breath, friend. You won't be hearing that story today.  
  
What I will say, I left that session, went to Walgreens for aspirin and a Coke and came out with more shit than I'd paid for.  
  
It didn't make me happy, or relieved, or euphoric. No funny little buzz. I felt panicky and guilty. As soon as l found a dumpster, l tossed my loot and walked home, smoking and worrying.  
  
My instinct was to immediately confess to Perry, throw myself on his mercy, until l remembered what he'd said; there was no margin for error. Go to jail, go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200. _Game over, chief._  
  
So instead when l got home, I kicked off my shoes at the door and ran up to my room to call Harmony on my cell phone.  
  
"Harry, everyone relapses. You needed to get it off your chest, so you told me. Perry doesn't need to know. Forget about it."  
  
Downstairs, I heard the front door slam and Perry's voice call, "honey, I'm home!"  
  
"You're right, Harm. Thanks. Listen, I gotta go, he's home. Okay, bye. Bye."  
  
I came down the stairs and saw Perry flipping through his mail.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey, chief. Did you go to therapy?" he said without looking up.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Good boy. Now pick up your goddamn shoes. I nearly broke my fuckin' neck."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason this chapter was quite difficult to write and it took a long time for me to feel satisfied to post it. It is longer than the first two and I still reckon there will be a fourth to wrap this up. 
> 
> Thanks again to those who took the time to leave kudos and especially for the lovely comments of encouragement. I do love this fandom!

Do you ever get that feeling of like, a sense-memory? Like the scent of a certain perfume can bring to mind an old girlfriend? Or a song can remind you of a special summer?  
  
The heavy weight of an old style telephone receiver in my hand takes me back to the first time I called my Dad from the police station in Embry. It gives me the same jump in my gut; the familiar and unpleasant dryness in my mouth that makes it difficult to speak.

"Sentron, Inc."  
  
"Hey, Perry. It's Harry."  
  
"Goddamn it, Harry, where are you? l expected you back at the office two hours ago! I don't recognise this number."  
  
"I'm in the Hills. l need you to pick me up. Listen-"  
  
"What the fuck? Where's your car?"  
  
"I don't have a lot of time, can I explain when you get here?"

I heard Perry huff and I could just imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
 _"Where are you?"_  
  
I chewed my lip. "Police station in the Hills."  
  
Stop. Time-out. You're rolling your eyes, right? Well, that's just fuckin' charming. Am I so much of a fuck-up that I don't deserve a little faith? Fuck. Come on, you guys.  
  
Okay, okay. It looks bad. I get that. But stick with me, alright?  
  
"Harry," Perry growled into the receiver (and I swear if he'd used my proper name he could have induced a memory to make me piss my pants), "if you are calling me for bail money-"  
  
"No, I'm not under arrest! Will you please come?"  
  
l admit that, yes, I could have done a better job of putting Perry straight. So to speak. But I was concussed and...

I'm doing it again. I'm getting twisted. I should really start with where I left the damn car.  
  
You see, as part of my super glamorous LA lifestyle, working as assistant to a private investigator, my duties include collecting the boss's dry-cleaning and pick up stationary supplies. I know, l bet you're so jealous.  
  
Anyway, the dry-cleaning was hung safely on what Perry likes to call the "holy shit, hold on" handle (it's a joke, my driving is not that bad) and l was on my way to the store, worrying about a stain the dry-cleaner said would never come out of Perry's favourite Armani shirt.  
  
I parked up outside the store and got out the car with a cigarette already between my lips (like I'm going to smoke in the car with Perry's best shirts, am I crazy?). I leaned against the car door, smoking and enjoying the sun.  
  
You know, I really enjoy people watching. Not in a creepy way. Perry says that seeing with your brain, not just your eyes, makes for a good detective. Anyway l noticed a girl, a woman really; brunette, red hot and so far out of my league she was off the radar. She was arguing with a guy. Her boyfriend? That was my first thought, but no way. She was immaculate and he made me look like a real catch. Something was off. l dropped my cigarette and as I was stubbing it out, the guy pushed the girl and took off.  
  
"My purse!"

One of the few plus-points of being a small guy is I am fast. But as much as I am quick in speed, I am a bit slow when making smart decisions.  
  
l caught up with the mugger on the next block, and grabbed the back of his jacket. He was ready and swung his fist, striking me on my cheek. l snatched the bag from him but he fought me and spun me into a streetlight. My skull vibrated and my knees hit the sidewalk. I stood, wobbling, with my fists raised but the mugger was already gone, almost out of my admittedly blurred vision.  
  
l touched my head. Wet, sticky. Blood. But, in my hand, the purse.  
  
I walked back to the car with the broken purse strap in my right hand. I pulled my sleeve over my left and pressed it against my bleeding head.  
  
The girl was on the sidewalk being comforted by a middle-aged Korean lady and a man in a suit.  
  
"Ma'am?"

The girl turned and her tear-stained face lit up.  
  
"Oh my God, thank you so much!" She took her purse and touched my arm. "Are you alright?"  
  
A cop car pulled up. Before I could make my excuses and take off, the guy in the suit, who must have made the 911 call, pushed me forward.  
  
And that was how l ended up in a police station, patched up by a rookie with a first aid kit.  
  
***  
  
When Perry finally stormed into the station like a sheriff into a saloon bar, he took one look at the butterfly stitches on my cheek and the dry blood in my hair and his face softened. Just a little. He still looked kind of pissed. He grabbed my chin and roughly turned my head to get a better look.  
  
''Who did this?" His voice was dangerous.  
I didn't get a chance to answer. There was the rookie cop thrusting a clipboard at me, "can I take your contact details, Mr Lockhart?"  
  
Numbly, I held my hand out but Perry snatched the board and started scribbling our address and what l assumed was my cell number, but could well have been his.  
  
"Start talking, chief," he said, eyes still on the form.  
  
I touched my stinging cheek. "Sorry, what?"  
  
"What happened? Why the fuck are we in a goddamn police station and why have you got blood in your hair?"  
  
Perry finished up my forms whilst l rambled through my afternoon of heroics and crime fighting.  
  
The cop took the form back and reminded me of my concussion (as if the splitting pain behind my eyes would allow me to forget) and he advised me not to drive for 48 hours.  
Perry was brusque but polite as he steered me out the door to his car.  
  
I fastened my seatbelt and relaxed back against the headrest. Man, was I glad to be out of there.  
  
"Are you alright?" Perry started the engine.  
  
"Yeah. Thanks for picking me up, Per."  
  
He reached across and patted my leg in the way he does to let me know everything is okay.  
  
We drove home in silence (Perry had already told me he'd arrange for my car to be collected and I was too tired to question him like I usually would). I must have dozed off because it seemed like we got through the traffic really quickly. Perry waited for me to get out of the car before he went ahead to the house. I followed behind him, willing my feet to carry me.  
  
I stumbled taking off my shoes and Perry caught my elbow.

"I'll get you a glass of water, chief."  
  
"I'd rather have something stronger."  
  
Perry frowned. "What painkillers...?"  
  
"Tylenol, that's all."  
  
I sat on the couch and Perry brought two glasses and the nice bottle of Scotch. He poured generously and put the glass in my hand. We clinked glasses but neither of us offered a toast.

"You ever mug anyone, Harry?"  Perry said quietly, turning his glass round and round in his hand.  
  
"Once," I admitted, my eyes on my drink. "When I first moved to New York. I think I really frightened the poor woman. I felt so bad after. I pickpocketed a few times but I never mugged anyone again. I left her bag on the bus, kind of hoping she'd get it back but I guess I'll never know if she did."  
  
Maybe it was whisky, maybe I was on a roll. My next confession was on the tip of my tongue.  
  
"Perry, I need to tell you something."  
  
"What's on your mind, chief?" He poured again.  
  
"You're not going to like it."  
  
"Spit it out, will you?"  
  
"Don't get mad, okay? Don't yell."  
  
Perry frowned.  
  
So I told him the terrible secret, my  
crimes in Walgreens. l told him how I usually feel after I steal (stole, past tense; I'm a good guy now), how I felt this time. I apologised, a few times actually. Perry said nothing, didn't interrupt me, didn't prompt me. He let me babble.  
  
When Perry yells, he kind of scares me. Even when it's not directed at me, he can be pretty frightening. When he's quiet, it's different. I get nervous.  
  
l shut up and waited. I finished my drink. Eventually Perry sighed and said, "okay."  
  
"Okay?"  
  
"l already knew, Harry."  
  
 _Oh fuck. He's having me tracked._  
  
"Harmony told me."  
  
Shit. Harmony, that snitch.  
  
"Why? Why would she tell you that?"  
  
Perry didn't seem angry but I was pretty pissed off. l have two friends in California. Only two. Is it too much to ask for a little loyalty?  
  
"She knew you would tell me, even though she advised you to keep your loud mouth shut. She thought I'd go nuts."  
  
"Then why-"  
  
"She guessed I'd go easier on you if I heard it from her first."  
  
I sat back. "So when I called you today and I was at the police station giving my statement..."

He nodded. "I thought you'd been busted."  
  
Perry picked up the bottle but I shook my head and covered my glass with my palm. The liquor was making my concussed brain far too fuzzy.  
  
"So on a scale of one to kill me, how pissed are you?"  
  
He put down the bottle and said "Harry, I don't expect miracles from you. What I do expect is that you go to therapy and you try. I also expect you to come to me if you feel like you're in trouble. Yes, I'm your boss but I am your friend first. You got that, chief?"  
  
"But you said, game over. You said if I stole again, I wouldn't get another chance."  
  
"I said if you told me you didn't want help and you went out to steal again, that was it."  
  
He got up and came up behind the couch to grasp my shoulders. My muscles were stiff and l relaxed into his hands. He leaned in and softly growled in my ear, "this is not a free pass. Do you understand?"  
  
l swallowed. "Yep, sure. Uh-huh. Loud and clear."  
  
Whether it was the concussion or the whisky, maybe the clearer conscience, but I slept like a drugged baby that night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a long hiatus! RL kind of took over a bit.
> 
> This is the last chapter in this story but probably not the last in the series. 
> 
> Lots has happened since I last updated. I went to LA, I got a KKBB-themed tattoo in Hollywood, I stayed at the Standard Downtown (the hotel Harry stays in in the movie). It was so weird to stand on the roof...
> 
> Anyway, to whoever reads this, I hope you enjoy it (please comment if you do!). I had fun writing it and I'm glad to finally wrap things up.'Til the next time...
> 
> ****************

Okay, this is what people don’t get; there are two types of stealing. There’s the kind that pays the bills, you know, the X Boxes, the car parts, all that stuff. That’s how you earn a living as a crook. Not earn. You know what I mean. Anyway, I never really enjoyed that kind of stealing. Right, fine, that’s not strictly true. Picking locks is kinda fun…

But generally, it was just a job, like any other, and who actually likes their job? Well, me, now, as it happens. But anyway.

The other type of stealing is the stupid kind. The kind that landed me in therapy. The kind that drives Perry crazy.

Stealing for cash was easy to give up because I don’t need the money anymore. Perry pays more than the going rate for an assistant-slash-schmuck. Being stupid though? Not such an easy habit to break. So, on the subject of stupid, I started picking Perry’s pocket, just for shits and giggles. And let’s be clear, I never actually took anything from it. I’d just lift it, then leave it on the breakfast bar or on his desk. I think at first he thought he was going a little bit nuts. It was funny. Until he busted me.

There’s a skill to pickpocketing so listen up. You use two fingers, not a finger and thumb, and you have to get in pretty close. I should’ve noticed Perry watching me. I got cocky and he had gotten suspicious. There I was, lost in the game one morning, when he turned, caught my wrist and twisted. I yelled and his wallet dropped from my hand.

‘Stop doing that,” he said simply, still gripping my wrist.

“Ouch, okay, received and understood! Ow, Perry, you’re breaking my arm!”

He let me go. “If I wanted to break your arm, Harry, it would be broken.” He glanced at his wallet lying open on the floor. “Pick that up.”

I rubbed my sore wrist and flexed my fingers. Not broken. I stooped to pick up his wallet and handed it back to him. He grabbed it and crossed his arms. His eyebrows were raised up, giving me that look you give a dog that peed on the rug. You know what I mean, you know it. I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed, that one.

“Why do you keep doing that?” he said.

“In my defence, I’ve never actually taken anything,” I offered.

“Not the point and answer the fucking question,” he snapped. 

“Geez, Perry, will you give me a break? It was just a bit of fun.” I cradled my arm. “Shit, I think this is gonna bruise.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll live. Show me.”

I bunched up my sleeve and held out my arm.

“Not your goddamn bruise, shit-for-brains. Show me how you’ve been lifting my wallet.”

Okay, so now it was my turn to be suspicious, right? I pulled my sweatshirt sleeves down over my hands. “Is this a trick? Like, is it a test?”

“No, Harry. I’m curious. Come on.” He put the wallet back in his inside jacket pocket.

“Okay.” I rubbed my hands together. “So first I would distract you, like engage you in a conversation, usually something meaningless or stupid that would make you want to ignore me. Then I palm your wallet.” Slowly, cautiously, I moved forward and demonstrated, slipping my hand between Perry’s shirt and jacket and with my middle and index fingers, gingerly lifted the item and whisked it away behind my back.

“Like that,” I said and immediately handed it back without looking into Perry’s steely gaze.

“Two fingers,” Perry said, turning the leather wallet over and over in his hand.

I shrugged. “Yeah, you know ‘cause if I used my finger and thumb, the mark would feel it.”

“The mark,” Perry repeated. “Hmm.”

I swallowed. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Perry placed his wallet back in his pocket.

“You’re mad at me.”

“No.”

“You asked,” I said.

“I did.” He straightened his tie. “Stop it.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say so I just nodded.

“You have therapy this afternoon?”

My stomach twisted. “Uh-huh.”

“Good. I’ll see you later then.” He turned to go out.

“Um, you don’t need me today?” I said, quickly before he stepped out.

Over his shoulder he said, “answer the phone if it rings.” He left without another word. When the door closed, I ran into the kitchen and vomited bile and that morning’s coffee into the sink. 

I felt shit for the rest of the morning. The phone only rang twice, as I sat at my desk, chewing my fingernails, doodling on a yellow legal pad, making cups of Perry’s nice Italian filter coffee and not drinking them. The first call was Dabney, nothing urgent. The second came through just as I was about to direct the line to Perry’s cell and leave for my session.

“Um, Sentron Inc., Harold speaking, how can I, um, help you today?”

“Harry.” It was Perry. 

“Oh, hey.” I cleared my throat. “I was just going-”

“To your appointment, yes.”

I didn’t say anything. He paused. It felt strained, which was weird because it had never been awkward between us, even in the beginning. I wondered why he was even calling? Was he checking up on me?

Finally I said, “I better go, Per.”

“Alright.” There was a click and the line went dead. That was it. Weird, right? And shit, I’d forgotten to tell him about Dabney.

I transferred the line, grabbed my keys and my cell and took my ass to therapy.

I got back a little after six. Perry’s car was outside; he was already home. I sat in my car for a while, maybe ten minutes, before I felt like going in. The door was locked as usual. I fumbled with the key and stomped inside.

“Shoes!” came Perry’s booming voice.

I kicked off my sneakers and found Perry with his back to me, sitting on the sofa, sifting through some papers and photographs. He didn’t turn around. I watched the back of his head but I didn’t say anything.

“You’re very quiet,” he commented. Nonchalant. The bastard.

“You lied,” I said. I pressed my lips together and huffed through my nose.

“What?” He still didn’t face me.

“You said you weren’t mad at me this morning. You lied!”

“Did I.” It wasn’t even a question. He sounded bored, like he wasn’t even listening.

I stepped in front of him, snatched the papers out of his hand and slapped them down on the coffee table.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I clenched my fists at my sides.

He stared up at me coldly.

“You called my therapist.” It was true, can you believe that? As soon as I sat down, she called me out on it, the pickpocketing.

Perry still didn’t say anything, not a word. 

“Why did you call her? It’s supposed to be private!”

“I am worried about you,” his voice even and smooth, the total opposite of mine, stammering and babbling like a fucking idiot. “And may I remind you," he said, coolly. "I pay her.”

“But it’s personal! What is the point in me going if you can’t respect my privacy, you dick!” I was raising my voice a bit now, which I hardly ever do (especially with Perry) but I was mad, okay? And embarrassed.

Perry stood up, and damn, his height. I shut up.

“You want to talk about privacy and respect? You've been stealing my wallet for weeks-”

“I didn’t steal-”

“Be quiet. I'm paying a therapist so you won’t steal. And then you pick my pocket.”

He made a good point.

“Are you going to fire her?”

“No.”

“Are you going to fire me?” Damn it, my eyes were watering.

“God, Harry. No.”

“I’m sorry, Per.”

“So you keep saying.” He sat back down and continued going through his papers. I took that to mean I was dismissed. I went up to my room and lay on my bed for a long time. I tried calling Harmony but it went to her answer phone and I didn't feel like speaking to a machine.

By eight I was hungry so I went downstairs to the kitchen. Perry was nowhere around, he must've gone out. I made ramen noodles and ate them at the breakfast bar. I watched a crappy movie on Lifetime (I'd figured out the cable password a couple of weeks ago) and had a few beers. Perry still wasn't home when I went to bed about midnight.

The next few weeks were really tense. Perry hardly took me out on surveillance jobs anymore. We rarely ate together either. The atmosphere was horrible. It was all I wanted to talk about in therapy and the only thing I didn't mention. 

This went on for maybe two weeks, almost three. I was beyond miserable. I tried everything I could think of. I brought him so many of those gross pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks that he loves even though they smell like feet; I paid special attention to my work, took all his messages to the last detail. I sucked up big time. At best, he ignored me; at worst, he was no grumpier than usual. I kinda wished he would just yell, get it out his system so the knot in my gut would go away and we could just go back to our usual back and forth.

The break came one day, late morning, when I was at my desk, shredding some old documents and humming the theme to All My Children. I was in the zone.

"HARRY!" Perry banged the palm of his hand on my desk.

I jumped so violently I nearly flew out of my chair. "Fuck! Perry, oh my God. I nearly peed my pants."

"Didn't you hear me? I've been yelling you for five minutes from downstairs!"

"I'm sorry. I was getting my shred on." I gestured to the pile on my desk. "What's wrong? Did I do something?"

"No, I need the spare key for my car, have you seen it?"

I shook my head. "Where's the regular set?"

"Locked in the goddamn car!"

"How-"

"I left the key on the seat, I ran back in for a file and the fucking thing auto-locked! I have a lunch meeting I can't be late for. I'll have to take yours. Where are your keys?"

He held his hand out expectantly.

"My car's in the shop."

"WHAT? Why?"

"I- it's, it's in for a tune-up." 

"Jesus Christ!" He was pacing up and down now. 

I chewed my lip as a thought formed and I considered whether or not I should speak up. You see, there was a very simple solution to Perry's problem. Do you know how freakin' easy it is to break into a car? Even a fancy-schmancy one with electric locks like Perry's. But was it worth the fallout? I mean, wouldn't it just make him even more suspicious of me? Would I be in the frame for every GTA charge in the county from now on? 

"What? What's that face?" He was frowning at me.

"What face?" 

"That face. You're either thinking really hard or you're having a mild stroke."

"Forget it."

"Tell me."

"No."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, standard Perry when he's exasperated. "This meeting is very important, Harry. If you have any idea how I can get across town without running up a $300 cab fare and still end up being late, please, spit it out."

I sighed and stood up. What was the point? Surely it was better to help out, right? Regardless of the implications.

I picked up an eraser and a lump of Blu-Tack from my desk. I walked past Perry and bent down to pick up a rubber wedge we used as a door stop. Then I went through to my bedroom (Perry following behind me, looking at me like I'm Rain Man or something). I collected a wire hanger from my closet. I avoided Perry's eyes as took my little tool kit out to the driveway. 

I straightened out the coat hanger and stabbed one end into the eraser, securing it with the putty. I could feel Perry's eyes on me but I ignored him, concentrating on my task. I squeezed the wedge into the top of the driver side door and gently, gently, maneuvered the hanger down through the gap and with the eraser I pressed the locking mechanism. I heard a click and I tried the handle. The door popped open. I retrieved the wedge and turned to Perry.

"There." I reached onto the seat, picked up the key and handed it over to Perry. I went to move past him, back into the house. He grabbed my arm.

"Harry," he said.

I waited for the inevitable lecture. "Yeah?"

"Thanks." That was it. He got in the car and drove off. 

I smoked almost a whole pack of cigarettes that afternoon, waiting for Perry to come back. I heard his car pull up just past five. Even with my almost constant smoke breaks I had finished all the shredding, reorganised my desk, put it all back again and had finally given up for the day. I was in front of the TV watching subtitled telenovelas when he came in. 

"Hey," he said, in a friendlier tone than I'd heard from him in weeks. He was carrying a bag of take-out from a Thai place I really like. And a six pack.

"Hey," I replied. "You make your meeting in time?"

"Yeah." He went through to the kitchen. I shut off the TV and followed him.

He set down the bag on the counter and put the beers in the fridge. "I'm gonna go change. You wanna plate up?"

I raised my eyebrows and just nodded. Everything was laid out when he came back in sweats and a t-shirt. 

"So," he said as he sat down at the breakfast bar.

"So," I said. Here we go, I thought. Here it comes.

"Thanks for your help with the car earlier."

"No problem," I said and shrugged.

"How did you know how to do that? You didn't even trigger the alarm." 

"My dad showed me the basics. Soft hands, that's all." I picked up a fork.

"Your dad? Your dad was a car thief?"

"He was a mechanic."

"Oh. Sorry. I just assumed-"

"Yeah. You do that a lot." I regretted it as soon as I said it. It was kinda mean and I'm not that guy. "Thanks for the food."

"Well, I figured you might be getting sick of ramen." He said it with a smile and I smiled back, mostly 'cause it felt like forever since he'd looked at me with anything more than eyebrows and rolled eyes. 

We ate in silence and washed up the dishes together (well, I washed and he dried) then I opened a beer and Perry poured a glass of wine. 

"Hey, wanna watch a movie? I tevo'd Switched At Birth a while back," I suggested.

Perry smiled again and said, "sure, as long as you promise not to cry all the way through."

I didn't manage to stick to that (seriously, have you seen it? Even Perry, the stone-cold bitch, was subtly wiping his eyes by the end), but it was the most content I had been in ages.

I had therapy the next day and I finally spilled the events of the last two weeks. We talked about my "skill set" and using my powers for good and not evil. I felt a lot better. When I got home, Perry listened as I recounted the session to him (not all of it; I didn't admit just how fucking sad I'd been when we were barely on speaking terms). He just nodded and patted me on the shoulder. He didn't comment and I was sort of grateful for that.

He doesn't give me the side-eye anymore when I'm chewing gum. He even asked me to how to pick the lock on his filing cabinet with a paperclip when he apparently lost the key (I still think that was a ruse but, whatever).

And on my advice, he upgraded the alarm on his car.


End file.
